


Sugar Me Sweet

by swtalmnd



Series: Tea and Knitting [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 04:38:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6890539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swtalmnd/pseuds/swtalmnd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On tumblr, morethancupcake asked for <em>Arthur and Eames, from your fic if possible, and "sugar me sweet."</em> I have no idea how this became sickfic, but here we are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sugar Me Sweet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Morethancupcake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morethancupcake/gifts).



> Thanks to kate_the_reader for the quick beta!

"Oh, bloody hell, what died in my mouth?" moaned Eames, rolling over and hiding under the covers. He looked pathetic, pale with high spots of colour on his cheeks, hair a sweaty mess, and dark circles under his eyes.

Arthur chuckled. "Cough syrup," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. He stroked his hand over Eames' hair, ignoring how disgusting it felt. He'd have to wash his hands regardless, so it hardly mattered. "The good news is, the prescription stuff knocked you right out. The bad news is, that means you need to take more of it."

"Ugh," said Eames, with enough feeling to set him off coughing. "Oh, fuck me, all right," he gasped out, once the fit subsided and he could breathe again.

"Come on, you can brush your teeth after you take it this time," said Arthur. He helped Eames out of the bed and into the bathroom, running one hand down his sweat-soaked back. "Want a shower, too?"

Eames leaned against the sink and sighed. "Let me see how this bit goes, love. And maybe make me a cuppa?"

"Will do," said Arthur. He measured out a dose of cough syrup and left Eames to it, putting the kettle on and pulling the disgusting sheets off the bed, starting the laundry and brewing Eames' tea.

"I think I'm going to have to settle for fresh pyjamas," said Eames, swaying as he walked back out to the bedroom. He looked to have washed up a little, anyway, so Arthur was going to go with whatever worked. Maybe a bath next time he woke.

"Sit," said Arthur, in the middle of remaking the bed with fresh sheets. He pointed toward the reading chair by the fire, next to which the cup of tea steamed gently. "I'll give you a hand changing when I'm done with this."

"Bless you, darling," said Eames, plunking himself down and dragging the afghan over his lap. He cradled the cup despite his feverish state and inhaled deeply. He didn't ask what it was; he never had in all the time he'd been drinking Arthur's teas, and even pneumonia hadn't changed him that much. One sip and he smiled and said in an approximation of his usual flirty charm, "Oh, it's lemon sherbet."

Arthur laughed and put the last pillow on the bed, smoothing out the duvet. "You're very spoiled, Mr. Eames." He'd been going for something like candy. He hid the chamomile Eames despised under sweetness and citrus with just a hint of therapeutic ginger and mint. Eames hadn't been eating much, so Arthur was willing to make sacrifices to get some calories into him.

"I'm very aware," said Eames, tilting his face up for a kiss. "I have no idea how you made this work with the toothpaste."

Arthur chuckled. "Trade secret," he said, giving Eames the requested kiss. Arthur had already had and recovered from the initial flu, but Eames had been caught out in the rain and acquired a persistent secondary infection that had nearly done him in.

"Have another sip, then it's time for your meds," said Arthur, stroking the drying hair off his brow. "You need to finish the whole bottle."

"I'll be a good boy, love," said Eames, leaning into Arthur. He took another sip of the candy-sweet tea, then let Arthur ply him with cool water and pills.

"I'll have food when you wake next," said Arthur. "I finally convinced the Chinese place to deliver."

"Bless you, darling," said Eames. He finished the water and let Arthur coax him out of his clothes, let Arthur wipe him down a bit more with a warm cloth and soft towel, let himself be coddled and chivvied into clean pyjamas and fed more sips of tea.

Arthur was pretty sure most of that was the narcotic, but it was also the trust they'd built in the months they'd been together. As far as Arthur could tell, Eames had trusted him since the first sip of tea Arthur ever gave him, and he'd tried very hard to live up to it. He'd been addicted to those wondering faces and soft sounds of pleasure since that moment, anyway, and he's very happy that their relationship hasn't yet succumbed to the sweater curse. He'd hate to be forced to give them up.

"Let's get you into bed," said Arthur, reminding himself that he's not here to ravish Eames, that neither of them would really enjoy it with Eames like this. He's not the one that's sick, though, and getting Eames into bed for anything other than sleep is something his body misses acutely.

"Love you, Arthur," slurred Eames, leaning on him. "I've said, haven't I?"

"Yes," said Arthur, though it hasn't been often. "I love you, too, Eames. Now go to sleep so I can finish publishing your real name on all those websites."

"Liar," said Eames, letting himself be tucked into bed. 

Arthur sat on the edge and stroked his hair, and thought about a thousand stitches and a hundred cups of tea and countless kisses. He was aware that his voice was impossibly fond as he said, "Go to sleep, Mr. Eames."

"Just be back before I wake," said Eames, yawn turning into a tiny cough. This time, he managed not to have a full-on fit, and the sigh of it turned into sleep.

Arthur got up and washed his hands again, checked the laundry, gathered up the detritus of illness. Eames was going to get better, Arthur knew that, so he prepared things for the next time Eames woke instead of moping about missing him. Then he gave in and took his book and sat in bed with Eames. He read his terrible mystery about knitting while waiting for his clever boyfriend to come back to him.

Their life might not be perfect, but it was sweeter than anything Arthur could have envisioned for himself, just like the cups of tea that he surprised Eames with at every opportunity.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm amysnotdeadyet on tumblr, come say hi!


End file.
